


Felthy Blue with a Ronching Blue Check

by APgeeksout



Category: All Elite Wrestling, Being The Elite (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:28:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: Who needs communication when handjobs are a thing?
Relationships: Kenny Omega/Adam Page
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41
Collections: Robot Rainbow 2020





	Felthy Blue with a Ronching Blue Check

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beedekka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beedekka/gifts).



> Set at some indeterminate point after AEW Revolution.

Kenny rapped his knuckles against the door, beneath where a sheet of Handswash Page stationery had been taped crookedly to its surface. No one had actually written NO BUCKS ALLOWED!!! across it, but he didn’t think he was imagining that the message was there all the same.

The door cracked cautiously, revealing a sliver of the Hangman’s wary face and bare chest and faded jeans. He peered out past Kenny’s shoulder, making sure he’d come alone before he opened the door and stepped back to admit him.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods?” Adam asked, moving back to reclaim his glass from the card table tucked into the room’s corner. 

Kenny took a beat to survey the room before answering: the table strewn with gear from Adam’s half-unpacked bag, a loveseat upholstered in a buffalo plaid picked out in two shades of searingly awful blue, a decrepit mini-fridge, a stack of steel chairs that had migrated away from their rightful place under the ring. He nodded to himself, satisfied that none of the corners and nooks seemed deep enough to conceal that sneaky bastard Cabana.

“Did I need a special occasion?” He meant for it to be rhetorical, but Adam was already shrugging an answer when he continued. “I thought maybe we could share? Strategize.”

“Stuff tag team partners do.” He tipped his glass back for a long, long drink, and Kenny watched his throat work. Just another one of those things partners did.

“Yeah, exactly!”

He couldn’t quite get a read on the look Hangman gave him then. Unhappy, but not angry, maybe a little disappointed? He pulled in a breath, as though gearing up to say something, then gave a sharp little smile and drained his glass instead. 

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable, partner,” he said, tipping his head toward the hideous little couch as he set his empty back on the table. The look that accompanied those words was more familiar, much easier to decipher. 

Kenny unzipped his hoodie and discarded it over the arm of the loveseat before he sat himself down in the middle of the cushions. It wasn’t going to be long enough for either of them to lie down, but they’d gotten pretty good at contorting themselves around each other.

Adam’s drink must have been sweating in the warm room, because Kenny felt his fingers trace a trail of cool wetness across his jaw and up into his hair when he straddled his hips and tilted his face up into a ferocious kiss. 

He let his own hands slide down Adam’s flanks to settle first at his waist, tracking the border between warm skin and beat-up denim, and then to wander back to his ass, both helpfully anchoring Hangman’s weight above him and shamelessly copping a feel.

Shameless seemed to be the order of the day, with Adam breathing desperate noises into his mouth and digging urgent fingers into Kenny’s bruises, the pressure and satisfying pain making his breath run ragged and his cock swell in his shorts. 

There were a couple minutes of awkward fumbling with belt-buckle and elastic waistbands and the unaccommodating dimensions of the furniture, but eventually they made it work: Kenny mouthing a line up the salty skin of Hangman’s neck, one hand down the back of his unfastened jeans, one of Adam’s fists tangled in the back of Kenny’s hair, the other wrapped around and working both of their cocks together. Maybe they didn’t move together gracefully, but they would damn sure get the job done. 

Kenny came first, spilling over Adam’s fist, and then sucking harder at the throbbing pulse point at his throat - hard enough to leave a mark that the Bucks were sure to comment on later - and taking more of his weight, letting him shift and grind against him to chase his own shuddering release.

Kenny’s shirt was already a lost cause, and he peeled it off, offering it to Adam to wipe down with. “Maybe one day we’ll do that with a plan. Some preparation.”

“That doesn’t really sound like us, does it?” Hangman said, and it sounded light enough, but his face was still inscrutable. “Hey, how’s the hand?” He brushed his fingers softly over the back of Kenny’s right hand, even as he was standing back up, opening new space between them. “You still icing it up?” He zipped himself back into his jeans, and without waiting for an answer added. “I’ll go get you some more. It’s time for another round, anyway.”

“This could be a real thing, this team. If we decided to make it one,” he pronounced. But since he hadn’t spoken up quickly enough, he was only talking to himself, their tag titles, and the terrible blue loveseat.


End file.
